Bluefen's Story
by Orion's Halo
Summary: In "The Outcast of Redwall," Swartt's story was told. Bryony's was told. Veil's was told. But what about Bluefen, the pretty shadow of a wife to whom Mr. Jacques gave no dialogue? This is her story. Rated M for violence, sex, and alcohol use.
1. Newcomers

Unlike many autumn mornings, this one did not come bearing a gust of chilling wind. The sun rose warm and bright in the clear sky, which many a beast would have claimed was the bluest they had seen in a long, long while. The birds, taking advantage of the beautiful weather, left the nests in which they had hidden in for so long from the cold rain and howling wind that often came with the cooler season. The songbirds were among these fowl, and they chirped at the height of their cheery little voices, flitting about in the blue, cloudless expanse above the tents of Bowfleg the Warlord.

A few early risers were already gathered around their cooking fires, talking amongst themselves and marveling at the gorgeous weather. Among the first awake was a small group of weasels, who quickly decided that four or five of the feathered creatures swirling above them would serve excellently as breakfast.

Bluefen, the sole daughter of Bowfleg the Warlord, ducked out of her tent and into the sunlight, stretching luxuriously. The ferretmaid yawned and smacked her dry lips. Making her way through the tatty, crowded tents, she reached the edge of the camp where a well had been dug. It wasn't a pretty thing, for a beast not far skilled in the art of masonry had laid the stones, and they sat stacked ugly and crooked atop one another. Some stupid beast had broken the handle off long ago, as well, and yet another had tried to remedy the situation by jamming a short stick in its place.

The only way one could draw water from the sad little well now was by pulling the rope and lifting the bucket up by paw, and it was this that Bluefen did. She dipped her paws into the cold water and sipped it, grimacing as she sucked in a little dirt as well. Those damn children had been throwing soil into the well again. She spat the debris out, making a mental note to ask Greenclaw to post somebeast nearby to watch for the heathens and give them a good beating should they be caught.

Setting the bucket on the ground next to the little well, Bluefen went off to get a fire going so that she could prepare her father's breakfast. He would be up in a short while, and she was expected to be there to ask him what he would like to eat when he did.

"Look out!!!"

Bluefen saw a weasel toting a bow sprinting toward her and waving a paw furiously above his head. She looked up to see what he was pointing at and let out a cry, leaping backward. A thrush thudded on the ground in front of her, an arrow through its chest.

The weasel put a footpaw on the dead bird and withdrew his bloodied arrow. He tossed the creature into a sack, then grinned at Bluefen. "Nice shot, eh?"

The ferretmaid didn't get a chance to respond, for the weasel's companions appeared from between the tents and began arguing with him about who had actually killed the bird. She shoved her way through them, leaving them to bicker over the little carcass.

As Bluefen headed back to her tent, more and more hordebeasts began waking. Writhing ribbons of smoke rose from more and more campfires as cooking utensils clanked and scraped against one another. The smell of cooking meat reached Bluefen's nostrils, and the wondrous scent of it made her mouth water. She passed by the tent of an old female rat who was boiling water in a pot and dumping chopped vegetables into it.

"Morning, Palgrin," she said.

The old rat looked up from her task and squinted at the maiden. She gave her a one-toothed smile as she recognized the ferret. "Ah, mornin', dearie. Pretty day, now isn't it?"

Bluefen agreed and continued on her way, stopping several more times to talk with other females as they began cooking. When she finally made it to her father's tent, he had already been awake for some time, and his temper showed it.

"H'where 'ave you been, girl?" he demanded, gasping as he leaned his bulk forward to glare down at her. "Lazing about, I be willink to wager!"

Bluefen stood on the bottom step of the dais under the purple pavilion awning in front of her father. She remained silent as he continued to scold her, waving his scepter about and jabbing it in the air to accent his words.

When the Warlord was finished, he slumped back on his throne, panting slightly; normally he didn't move so much.

"Is there something you would prefer this morning, Father?" Bluefen asked quietly.

Bowfleg narrowed his puffy eyes at her. "H'I'm de Warlord of dis horde, an' h'you will call me dadd!"

Bluefen curtsied and looked at the ground respectfully, not wanting to incur her father's wrath. "Of course, Lord."

Bowfleg tilted his head, the sound of a bird's happy, flitting tune having caught his attention. "De birds are out?" he said, sounding bemused.

"Yes, Lord," Bluefen said, looking up at him. "Is this what you would like?"

The fat old ferret grunted as he shifted on his throne. "Yiss, yiss. Bring me throsh."

The Warlord's daughter quickly curtsied again and vanished among the milling hordebeasts outside of the pavilion.

* * *

A short while after conversing with her father, Bluefen came back and presented Bowfleg with a bottle of wine and a roasted thrush on a silver platter. He snatched the bird from her and tore into it greedily, leaving Bluefen to stand next to the throne with the platter and wine in her paws for when he wanted a drink.

As she waited for her father to wave a paw at her for the wine bottle again, Bluefen looked over to see the Warlord's gigantic bodyguard staring at her. He was a frightening beast, being taller than any living creature Bluefen had ever seen. He had thick, sinewy limbs and a barrel-like chest, and cords stood out on his neck even when he wasn't carrying Bowfleg about on his throne. Her father called him Wurgg the Spinecracker, and though Bluefen had never been present to see him crack anybeast's spine, she didn't doubt that he had.

Now, the giant was waggling his eyebrows at her and grinning. She rolled her eyes and looked away, accustomed to this kind of behavior from the males around her, for even though she was the daughter of the fat, ugly, wheezing creature lolling on the throne beside her, she was indeed quite pretty. Nobeast knew who her mother had been, but Bluefen had always assumed that she was very pretty as well, and had been forced to marry her father, for what sane beast would have done it willingly?

A rat suddenly appeared in front of the circular dais and prostrated himself, waiting until Bowfleg had swallowed his mouthful of thrush and ordered him to speak.

"The drums beat a message of warning," the rat said. "The runners should be 'ere soon to tell what of."

Bowfleg ripped another chunk of meat off of the thrush, frowning as he chewed. After a moment, he dismissed the rat and ordered Bluefen out, telling her to take the wine with her.

"H'it taste like salty h'water," he said, leering at his daughter as if it were her fault. "H'you tryin'k to poison me?"

Bluefen apologized for the wine, glared at Wurgg, who was still blowing her kisses and making all sorts of inappropriate gestures, curtsied at her father, and left. As soon as she was out of Bowfleg's field of vision, Bluefen let her brow drop and the corners of her lips curl. How she hated slaving for that old, fat, useless tub of lard!

"Something wrong, lovely?"

Bluefen had been so lost in hateful thoughts that she had almost run smack into the ferret Wildag, one of her father's most trusted captains. She glared at him. "If you'll excuse me, Captain, I'm in no mood to talk," she said, moving around him.

Wildag ignored the ferretmaiden's ill humor and fell into step with her. "You know you can tell me anything," he said softly, leaning closer to Bluefen than she would have preferred.

Bluefen moved away from him a little, shaking her head. "Nothing's wrong," she told him. "Really, I'm fine." They had reached her tent, and Bluefen tried to hurry over and duck under the flap to avoid further conversation, but Wildag cut her off by stepping in front of her.

"Whoa," he laughed, "'old on a bit. I want to talk to you."

Bluefen took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Captain," she said to him. "My answer still hasn't changed."

Wildag raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? An' why would that be?"

The ferretmaid went over to a washtub and dumped the greasy platter into it, saying, "For the same reasons I explained to you the last time to tried to talk to me like this." Bluefen froze as she felt Wildag's paws settle on her waist.

"Oh, come now, love," he breathed into her ear. "Don't be like this…"

Bluefen pulled away from him and stood with her back against the lantern post. "Captain, I would prefer that you keep your distance," she said, trying to keep her paws from shaking.

Wildag grinned darkly and took a step toward her. "Why? Because it isn't proper? Sure, there are rules, lovely, but rules were made to be broken, right?" He moved toward her again, but before Bluefen could say anything else, a sharp command rang out through the camp.

"Captains, report!"

Wildag looked over his shoulder in the direction that the voice had come from, his face the picture of displeasure. "That'll be Greenclaw," he muttered to himself. The Captain turned back to Bluefen, who was still staring wide-eyed at him with her back against the lantern post. "I'll finish with you later," he told her before turning and heading off to report to Lord Bowfleg's tent.

Bluefen made sure he was gone before picking up the wine bottle and ducking inside her tent. Sitting down on one of the cushions she had stuffed and sewn herself, the maiden uncorked the bottle and took a sip of the wine. She pulled a face and spat it out, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Her father had been right; it did taste like salty water.

The ferretmaid got up and tossed the bottle outside her tent; some other beast would be happy to find it. She went over to a wicker basket in the corner of her tent and pulled out a bundle of cloth containing some meat from the bird that she had served Bowfleg earlier. She had cut a fair-sized chunk from the fowl for herself, knowing that her father would be too consumed with his own hunger and greed to examine the bird first. Bluefen took a bite from it, wishing that the cloth had kept it a bit warmer. As she ate, Bluefen listened for any sign of Wildag's return, so that if need be, she could slip under the back of the tent and escape.

Licking her lips and sucking any remnants of the meat from her claws, Bluefen went over to her washbowl and rinsed her face and paws. When she was finished, she left her tent and began wandering through the camp, as she did everyday until the light began to fade, the time which Bowfleg would be demanding another meal.

Females were cleaning up from their cooking and scrubbing cooking utensils as their mates lounged about with their paws resting on their full bellies, chatting with one another about how they wished every day could be like the one they were enjoying now. Young ones dashed in and out of tents in a game of catch-me-if-you-can, giggling uproariously until their mothers and fathers yelled at them for being noisy or in the way.

Watching two youngsters wrestle over a rosy apple they had found in an unguarded sack, Bluefen couldn't help but laugh as one tripped the other and landed right on top of the fruit, completely squashing it. The pair, a stoat and a weasel, looked up at the sound of her voice, and grinned as they recognized her. Forgetting the apple, they began chasing her and trying to snag her trailing apron strings. Bluefen found herself laughing and squealing like a little girl as they grabbed at her and tried to trip her, but neither of them was quick enough to do so. The ferretmaid bolted at breakneck speed around a tent, the two young ones hot on her heels. It wasn't until she slammed right into the beast's back that she saw him. The pair that had been chasing Bluefen slid to a halt and stared fearfully at the creature as he turned around to face them.

He was a tall, sinewy ferret, with the fiercest eyes any of them had ever seen. Purple and green dye was painted across his face like lightning bolts, and his teeth were stained a glistening red. Round his neck hung a necklace of teeth and claws, and on his left paw he wore a chainmail gauntlet. He scowled threatening at Bluefen, who had been knocked down when she cannoned into him.

It took her a moment, but the maiden eventually found her voice. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes wide and locked on him as she got up and dusted herself off. "I didn't see you, there."

The male suddenly looked over Bluefen's shoulder at the youngsters blinking at him. "What're you two thick'eads gawpin' at?" he roared at them, making Bluefen start.

The stoat and weasel kicked up dust as they took off running like madbeasts.

When he turned his attention back on Bluefen, the maiden paled. "Are you the one that Captain sent to set up my tent?" he demanded roughly.

Bluefen shook her head. "No."

The big ferret's brow darkened. "Then where's the beast who's supposed to be doin' it?"

"I don't know," Bluefen stammered under his dark gaze, completely puzzled.

The look the male gave her then made it obvious that he believed she didn't possess an ounce of brains. He turned his back on her as a scrawny rat with a tent tarp in his claws tapped his shoulder.

"Well, where in Hellgates have you been?" he snarled at the unfortunate creature. "Get that tent up, sharpish!"

Bluefen was about to make a run for it when the male turned back and snagged her by her wrist. She yelped and tried to pull away, but the bigger ferret hauled her close to him.

"Bring me wine, girl," he growled, "and meat. Hot, fresh meat." The ferret released her and Bluefen dashed off among the tents with no intention of bringing the fearsome newcomer anything.

When she had gone, the ferret whirled back on the hapless rat as he struggled to set up the tent as quickly as possible. "You still haven't even unfolded it yet? Hellteeth, I'll do it myself! Give me that damned tarp!"

* * *

Yay, another _Outcast of Redwall_ fanfiction, this time, from Bluefen's point of view! I'm sorry that I haven't submitted anything in such a long while, and I hope that this makes up a little for my absence on the site. Like many have said before, Bluefen is not out of character here because she never _had_ any character in the first place. As for Swartt, you can see that I left him as the a-hole that he's always been, so no problems there. I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter, and please know that whether I continue this or not will be based on the number of reviews I recieve, so please click the green button. ^^

~Orion


	2. Out of the Frying Pan, into the Fire

The next morning that found the camp of Bowfleg the Warlord was an eerie one. The sun rose slowly over the land with a blood red glow, illuminating the silver ribbons of mist that slithered between the tattered tents like spectral snakes. No birds were to be seen in the sky, and the air was devoid of their morning song. The wind was still, and the whole of the eastern scrublands was left to an almost supernatural silence, as if sound altogether had simply been muted. The camp would have slept much later than usual without the birds or the weather to wake them had it not been for the pounding drums that erupted over the land.

Bluefen, who hadn't woken when the drums began, sat bolt upright as a sudden howling began near her tent. Throwing back her threadbare blanket, she peeped out of her tent flap to see a vixen garbed in a tatty feather-trimmed cloak performing a strange shuffling dance in front of her father's tent. The vixen waved a long staff decorated with hair, shells, and bones about as she chanted, quickly drawing the attention of a large crowd. Seeing as practically everybeast around her had left their tents to go and watch the spectacle, Bluefen gave into her curiosity and followed them.

The ferretmaid pushed and jostled her way through the growing crowd, trying to get a glimpse of the vixen as she continued to wail and dance. She had almost reached the front when she came across a burly weasel with a sightless white orb for one eye. Bluefen tried to squeeze past him, but he forced her backward with a shoulder, causing her to slam into the stoat behind her.

"'Ey, watch it!" he snarled, pushing her forward into the weasel.

The burly creature turned on Bluefen with a growl, his sightless eye roving about in its socket as he unsheathed a dagger from his ragged belt. The ferretmaid was certain he would have gutted both her and the stoat had there not been a sudden cry from the tent.

"Dead, both dead! Not a mark on either of 'em. Who could have done this?"

Chatter exploded in the crowd, and Bluefen could no longer hear what was going on under the pavilion. Taking advantage of the situation, she slipped past the weasel, stomping the footpaws and elbowing the ribs of distracted beasts to get to the very front of the gathering. A few moments later, a familiar voice reached her ears.

"By Hellgates, I'll split every one o' ye wide open! Getcher claws off me!"

Bluefen stared as the six-clawed ferret she had run into the previous day was dragged through the crowd by four armed guards. They hauled him into the tent, roaring oaths and spitting curses that made even the most hardened of soldiers wince. The hordebeasts continued their jabbering, leaving Bluefen straining to hear what was going on inside the tent, until they heard Swartt's voice ring out several minutes later.

"I had no need to come here," they heard him say, "I was doing well with my own band. Then one night I had a dream. Lord Bowfleg appeared to me and implored me to come to his side with all speed--he said that he needed my help."

Bluefen frowned. But why? Everything was just fine here in the scrublands.

A few soldiers suddenly came out of the tent and seized the vixen, who had been held at spearpoint until now, and forced her inside.

A low babble started up again, and Bluefen cursed the beasts around her inwardly. Why couldn't they just shut up and listen?

More time passed before more moaning and wailing could be heardfrom within the tent as the vixen began chanting again:

"Allbeasts who challenge the Sixclaw will die,

Dark Forest gates will reflect in their eye!"

Bluefen had thought that the hordebeasts were loud before, but that had been nothing. A roar of conversation crashed down on her ears like a tidal wave, accompanied by angry shouts and screams. Having heard only bits of what had gone on in the tent before her, yet understanding everything completely, the ferretmaid was hit by the cold shock of fear. She whirled away from the purple pavilion, dashing around the giant crowd and leaving the whole scene behind her.

* * *

The ferretmaid sat in her tent, knees pulled tight against her chest. This couldn't be happening. Her father was dead. Wurgg too! But how? The weasel was big enough to snap a beast in half, and surely somebeast would have heard the ruckus? But one of the captains had said that there had been no sign of a fight. That left only one option…

Poison.

Bluefen shuddered. That Sixclaw beast must have done it. And, oooh, Gods, he was the new Warlord! The mere thought was utterly terrifying.

But one thought still reigned over all, one that was far more bone chilling than anything else that drifted about in her mind: She was to marry Swartt Sixclaw now that he had taken her father's place.

Would he remember her? She hoped not. She silently prayed that he would ignore her like her father, giving her no more attention than he had. Bluefen doubted that any attention from him whatsoever would be bad. _Very_ bad.

Perhaps she could run away. Maybe, once night fell and everybeast was asleep, she could slip away with what little she had and make a new life for herself elsewhere. But where could that possibly be? Did it really matter? Was she willing to risk staying here and dealing with that... that monster on a regular basis?

Bluefen swiftly began rolling up her blankets and shoving her other belongings into the wicker basket in the corner of her tent.

* * *

Though the day had been rather pleasant, the night carried with it a chilling breeze, and the hordebeasts clustered around campfires for warmth, and for entertainment. Tales of great battles and treasure won and lost could be heard around almost every fire, save a few. There were no smiling faces in these gatherings. They sat scowling and muttering to one another about their new leader, Sixclaw. These beasts were perfectly happy where they were, and they didn't relish the idea of packing camp and marching away from the fertile land about them, like Swartt had mentioned earlier today to the whole horde. There was talk of assassination, rebellion, and some sort of rubbish about a badger.

Bluefen heard none of this, however, as she stood outside Swartt Sixclaw's tent in the cold wind, her few belongings clutched tightly to her. She stared at the shut tent flap, trying to work up the courage to call to him or at least tap on the tarp. The ferretmaid's plans of escape had been dashed when Scraw had come to fetch her. He was the head of the Captains, so he had taken it upon himself to uphold the law of the horde. He was greatly pleased to see that the maiden had all of her things ready to be moved into her new husband's tent. A tight smile was all that Bluefen could manage as he told her how happy he was that she wasn't beside herself in grief and unwilling to adapt. In truth, she hadn't been listening to him at all. Her attention had been riveted on the two soldiers that were flattening and rolling her tent, and the weasel standing aside as he waited to recieve it.

"Are you going inside, or are you going to stand out here in the cold all night?"

The ferretmaid started as the vixen she had seen earlier today materialized out of the darkness beside her. Bluefen was speechless for a moment. "I, um, I'm Bluefen," she managed to splutter.

The vixen smiled at her. "I know. Swartt's new wife."

Bluefen nodded slightly, feeling rather ill.

"I am Nightshade," the vixen said, "Swartt's Sixclaw's eyes and ears."

The ferretmaid, who had been brought up by a single stoatmother who had lost her own child, was not bereft of manners. She struggled to curtsy, weighed down by the load in her arms. "A pleasure," she gasped.

"Indeed." Nightshade glanced at the tent again. "He is in a good mood tonight," she said. "A most rare occasion."

Thanks, Bluefen thought. Thanks a lot.

"All the same, I have a report to make. I shall accompany you inside," Nightshade said. She reached for the tent flap and opened it, slipping inside. Bluefen quickly dipped under the low entryway as the vixen held the flap for her.

"Shut that flap, yer lettin' that cold wind inside!"

Bluefen looked up to see Swartt sitting on the other side of the tent, a good deal of food and drink in front of him. He swallowed the mouthful of bird he'd been chewing and licked his long, sharp teeth.

"What's this, eh?" he said to Nightshade with a gesture at Bluefen. He sounded slightly irritated.

"Her name is Bluefen," the vixen said, cutting the ferretmaid off as she tried to speak. "She is Bowfleg's daughter, and through law and tradition here, your wife."

"Oh, really?" he said, raising his eyebrows and taking another bite of meat. As he chewed, his gaze flickered down Bluefen's form. Heat crept up her face.

"Alright, then," he said, spitting out a piece of bone. He turned to Nightshade. "Well? Your report?"

"The path is clear; no fallen trees, no rivers, nothing. We should reach the flatlands in no time at all."

Swartt nodded. "Good, good. Have you 'eard any talk o' mutiny goin' about?"

"No more than grumblings about moving from here from a few. They are simply lazy. With a bit of motivation, they will quickly change their minds. Hordebeasts are fickle creatures, Lord," the vixen replied.

The Warlord bared his fangs in a frightening flash of red. "Excellent."

All the time, Bluefen had been standing near the tent flap, feeling hideously awkward standing there with her belongings in her arms.

Swartt suddenly looked over at her, and Bluefen felt her heart flutter with fear. He dismissed Nightshade, who bowed slightly and left without another word toward him or her.

When she had gone, the Warlord leaned back on the cushions he had plundered from Bowfleg's tent and gazed silently at Bluefen. He tapped the claws of his good paw on the rim of a jewel encrusted drinking cup, looking her up and down. At length, he nodded and smiled a little. "Not too bad," he said. "Put that load down and c'mere."

Struggling to keep her paws from shaking, Bluefen put her things in one corner of the tent and stepped hesitantly toward the big ferret, butterflies pinging off the insides of her stomach. Again, he scrutinized her from ears to tail tip. At one point he even tugged at the hem of her dress to turn her around so that he could get a better look at her. Needless to say, Bluefen felt like some sort of ware in a marketplace being looked over to assure its value.

Swartt turned the maiden back around and looked up into her face. He grabbed her dress again, tugging it so hard that Bluefen was forced down onto her knees in front of him. She attempted to move backward, put a little distance between them, when he reached up and took hold of her face. The ferretmaid froze, terror coursing through her. Instinct told her to pull away, but she was too frightened to move. Her eyes remained locked on Swartt's, watching for any unfavorable reaction. The Warlord turned her face from one side to the other, scanning every feature with a critical eye.

And then he let go suddenly. The combined instinct to pull back from the big ferret and the awkward position Blufen had been kneeling in caused her to fall backward, knocking over a chalice of wine and spilling it all over a plate of fish. The maiden scrabbled upright as quickly as she could, righting the chalice and tilting the plate, allowing the wine to run off in hopes that it hadn't ruined the taste.

"I'm sorry," she stammered as she stood up. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-" She looked quickly back at Swartt, half-cringing, as if expecting him to be standing over her with his gauntlet raised.

But he was still seated. His brow was furrowed, however, as if he were trying to remember something. "Wait a minute," he said, staring intently at her. "I've seen you before."

Bluefen shook her head and was about to try and convince him otherwise when he stood up, a frightening scowl on his war painted features.

"I have seen you before," he said again, stepping toward the ferretmaid. "You're that girl who was supposed to bring my dinner last night."

The maiden trembled as she was swamped by the towering warlord's shadow. She couldn't think of any way to respond to that.

But saying anything would have resulted in the same punishment that Swartt was about to give her anyway.

Bluefen had no idea it was coming until her husband brought back his good paw and whipped it across her face, making a loud_ crack!_ She gasped and staggered backward, holding her stinging cheek. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared up at him.

"Could have 'ad all the bird an' fish I wanted, but I went an' told 'em you were bringin' it," the Warlord growled as he advanced on her. "Waited for two damn hours an' ended up with cold thrush I 'ad to take from another beast!"

Blufen thought that there was enough distance between them that he couldn't strike her again, but his reach was longer than she had suspected. He backhanded the maiden again, this time hard enough to knock her down.

She landed on her paws and knees, tears rolling down her face. "Please," she sobbed, "stop!"

Swartt seemed taken aback, but did indeed stop, if only because he was stunned that she dared say anything at all. "What did you say?"

The maiden raised her tearstained face to her new husband, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she begged him. "Please, no more…" For a moment, Bluefen actually believed that he was finished. She stared up at him, her tear-filled eyes pleading silently.

Swartt's surprised melted back into rage as he snarled, "Stop? You want me to _stop?" _

Bluefen's scream was silenced as the air was forced from her lungs by a sharp kick. The Warlord leaned down and hissed at her. "Don't you ever tell me to stop! Do you hear me? You may be my wife, but that doesn't give you special privileges. I'm still your horde leader an' therefore demand as much respect as I would from any ordinary soldier, so don't be expecting any special treatment!"

Bluefen was hauled roughly upright by Swartt's good paw. "Now, stop that blubberin'. You ain't that badly hurt. Far better off than any soldier would 'ave been," he said. Any traces of fury had disappeared from the Warlord's face. He gestured at the plates and cups on the ground. "All I ask of ye is that there be food when I'm hungry, drink when I'm thirsty, and…" He paused and let his eyes flicker down her again. "We'll get to that part later. So, you can see that I'm not askin' much. Unnerstan'?"

The ferretmaid sniffed and nodded, eyes cast downward.

"What was that?"

"Yes, my lord."

Swartt nodded. "Good. Now, I've got some business to take care of. You're welcome to any of the food or drink; I'm finished with it. Leave that flagon of wine be, though, an' when yer done clean all this up."

Bluefen's reply was mechanical. "Yes, my lord."

"Now, that's more like it! Maybe yer a little sharper than ye look."

The Warlord vanished out of the tent flap, leaving his young wife to sit down where she was standing and put her face in her paws. Oh, what kind of nightmare was this?


	3. Getting to Know You

Bluefen still hadn't gone to sleep by the time Swartt returned. During most of his absence she had sat and stared at the tent tarp, struggling to accept the fact that she was stuck here with this monster. An angry red welt had risen on her cheek where he had struck her, and once she noticed it she had taken a small basin, filled it with water, and dabbed the cool, soothing liquid on the stinging spot with a cloth. It was here that the Warlord found her, sitting next to the basin with the cloth to her face.

"Still fussin' over that, are ye?" Swartt snorted and went over to the trunk he had pillaged from Bowfleg's tent. Fiddling with the clasp of his cloak, he discovered why it had taken Nightshade so long to get it fastened. Getting it undone was proving to be just as difficult, and with only one paw available, it was near impossible to do himself. After several failed attempts, he became thoroughly irritated and looked over at Bluefen. "Quit wipin' at yer face, miseryguts, an' come undo this catch."

The ferretmaid dropped the cloth into the basin and came over to assist the Warlord. The mechanics of the throat clasp were not as simple as they first looked, and it took Bluefen a moment to figure out how to undo it. When it finally clicked open, Swartt turned and shrugged the heavy cloak off, allowing it to fall onto his wife, whom he expected to catch it.

"Fold it up and put it in there," he ordered, gesturing at the trunk before snagging a flagon of wine and taking a draught.

Bluefen followed his instructions and closed the trunk lid. She stifled a yawn. It was late. Outside the spacious tent of the new Warlord, nothing could be heard except for the crackling of dying fires and the nighttime song of the crickets.

The maiden gasped as something smacked her in the back of the head.

"Are you listenin' to me, wench? I said put that in there, too!"

Bluefen quickly grabbed the tunic and placed it in the trunk after folding it neatly. She turned to see Swartt, lying on the sleeping pallet she had made, reach up for the oil lamp and blow it out, then everything was dark. Fumbling about in the pitch blackness, the maiden managed to bang her knees on every object solid enough to cause pain, and almost knock the oil lamp over. At least then she had some sense as to where she was in the dark tent, and she was finally able to find the pallet. The maid did not even try to pull at the blanket Swartt had commandeered. After a while, however, she began to shiver, and she shifted closer to Swartt for his body heat.

Bluefen let out a squeak of fright as something heavy fell on top of her. She kicked it away and sat up, breathing hard.

No sound of movement. The ferretmaid ventured a shaky paw out and felt her paws touch whatever had attacked her.

One of her blankets.

The maiden took it in her paws and glanced in Swartt's general direction. He must have dropped it on her when he felt her move closer to him. Throwing it out, she pulled the blanket over herself and scooted away from Swartt. For several minutes, she listened to his breathing become slower and slower, and only after he had fallen asleep completely was she able to even consider shutting her eyes.

* * *

Bluefen woke early the next morning to find herself lying on her belly. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary for her, as she usually rolled over at some point in the middle of the night. What was strange, however, was a firm pressure on her back, pressing her down into the blankets beneath her. Bluefen groaned and pushed upward, but the more she pushed, the harder she was forced back down. Struggling to turn over beneath the multitude of blankets she had covered herself with in the middle of the night (the temperature had dropped drastically), a crushing force suddenly wrapped itself around her ribcage and throat.

"I got yer, Scumtripe," a voice rumbled against her ear. The throttling force suddenly increased, and the ferretmaid spluttered and gasped for air. She kicked and thrashed violently, hitting her sleeping husband as hard as she could. It was like striking granite. As the seconds ticked by, Bluefen's precious air supply began to dwindle, and her struggles grew less and less. Just when she thought she was going to faint, the ferretmaid landed a kick below Swartt's belt line.

As gasp escaped his lips and he let go of her. Bluefen scrambled backward, her chest heaving as she gulped one of the things she had taken for granted all her life.

Swartt coughed, pain twisting his features as he curled up beneath the blankets. He opened his watering eyes and saw Bluefen gasping in a corner of the tent, her paw at her throat. She was staring at him, her dark eyes wide and glossy with fear. He quickly came to the conclusion that this was her fault.

"You stupid bitch," he hissed. "What in hellgates were you thinking?"

Bluefen could only shake her head as she gawped at him. She scuttled further away as he reached for her with his good paw.

"Stupid bitch," he repeated. The Warlord sat up, wincing as he did so, and ordered her to get him his tunic and cloak. Bluefen was not as quick to obey his commands this morning, due to the near choking she had undergone, and Swartt cursed her black and blue for it. The maiden didn't mind so much. At least he wasn't able to hit and kick at her at the moment.

When Bluefen came over to give him his clothing, though, she forgot herself and leaned in too closely. _Smack!_ Her head turned to the side with the force of the slap and she hurriedly moved backward to avoid another one.

Swartt grumbled and pulled on his tunic, ignoring the staring eyes of Bluefen, who had never seen a malebeast completely undressed before. He snatched up his gauntlet and fitted it onto his paw, flexing his good one. The Warlord nodded at the cloak and told her to come fasten the catch, and Bluefen moved with more haste now that Swartt was up and wearing his gauntlet again. When she finally got it, Swartt shoved her aside and opened the tent flap.

Bluefen watched him vanish out the flap and let out a sigh of relief. Feeling her previous welt being replaced by another one, she set about gathering cooking utensils to make her husband's breakfast.

* * *

Around noon that day, after ignoring the breakfast Bluefen had cooked for him, Swartt gathered the horde at a small hillock to hear out his plans. He ordered the tent still containing Wurgg and Bowfleg to be burned, then told the horde of the sunwarmed lands southwest. They roared with approval as he promised them captives and plunder, and hardly anybeast was slow to pack their things and get into formation to march.

Through all this, Bluefen had been hurrying to pack her husband's belongings. Other beasts were going to carry them on the march, of course, and since she was wife to the new Warlord, she wasn't expected to carry anything either. One plus to being his wife, she thought as she folded and tucked things into Swartt's pillaged trunk. Too bad there were so many more bad points compared to good.

An hour later they were all on the path, stepping to a quick march. Bluefen stayed near the middle of the formation with the other young females, and they chattered and gossiped just like they had before anything had changed. At least, they did for a little while. After the first half-hour, they began to try and conserve their breath, for they were using quite a bit of it to simply keep in time with the drummers. An hour passed and they were panting. Two hours and they didn't think they could go much further. Mercifully, Swartt called the horde to a halt thirty minutes later, giving them a fifteen minute break before they started off again. It was passed dusk by the time they reached the flatlands, and everybeast but Swartt and his former band was bone-weary; they were not accustomed to this kind of activity.

Bluefen watched the soldiers finish setting up the tent belonging to her and her husband and nodded her thanks as they went off to set up their own. It was hot, and her throat was dry. She went into the tent and found the trunk. Digging through it, she discovered the flask of wine that Swartt had forbidden her to touch. There was no water anywhere, and her husband wasn't anywhere to be seen, so Bluefen quaffed a good deal of it, savoring the rich, sweet taste. She wiped the back of a paw across her mouth. So good...

The maiden threw the flask back into the trunk as Swartt ducked into the tent. She pretended to be unpacking, and the Warlord scowled at her.

"We ain't stoppin' here but fer tonight. Don't go unpackin' everythin'."

"Yes, my Lord," Bluefen said, taking out a few of the lighter blankets and a thin nightshift of hers. She would never be able to sleep in the thick cotton dress she was wearing now. The maid dug a little further and found the bejeweled chalice and bowl. A few of the females she knew had invited her to share sup with them earlier, and she had accepted the invitation with a grateful smile. Bluefen glanced at Swartt and saw him throw his cloak aside, the catch broken. He sat down and gave her a look that demanded something be done about his dinner.

"I'll be back in a moment, Lord," she told him. He snorted in response and she hurried away.

The females were greatly upset when Bluefen filled her bowl and told them that she couldn't stay. They begged her to sit with them if only for a little while, but she was firm in her declination. When she returned to the Warlord's tent, Swartt was staring at the ground, the glazed look in his eyes an indication that he was someplace else.

"My Lord?"

Swartt snapped out of his reverie and looked up at her irritably. "What? Waddya want?" Bluefen held out the bowl to him. He snatched it from her and sniffed the contents. "What is it?"

"Vegetable stew," Bluefen said, her paws gripped tightly about one another. She prayed that he liked it; she didn't want to have to find something else to cook for him.

The Warlord tilted the bowl upward and sipped at the steaming broth. He licked his lips and tilted it again. Bluefen guessed that he liked it and went about searching for the bread she had made this morning, along with the bird that had been roasted for the breakfast that Swartt had never eaten. The meat was cold now, and the bread had hardened slightly, so Bluefen didn't dare offer it to her husband. Instead, she sat alone in her little corner and nibbled the crusty bread and cold meat as Swartt finished his bowl of stew and swigged wine. She was thirsty too, of course, but she didn't go over to the trunk to look for anything to drink; that would put her in Swartt's paw range. The Warlord noticed her watching the flagon in his paw, however, and when he had gotten all he wanted, he tossed it at her.

Bluefen caught it and quickly swallowed all that was left in it. A mouthful, at most, but at least her throat was no longer dry. She finished her meager meal and washed up with the brackish water in the basin as Swartt undressed. When her paws and face were dry, she found the nightshift she had laid out earlier and began slipping out of her dress. She turned to make sure Swartt was preoccupied with something else before pulling the clothing completely over her head and sliding into the nightshift.

Distaste was clear on Swartt's face when she came over to the sleeping pallet wearing the ankle-length nightgown. "Don't you think it's a bit hot fer that?" he said as she sat down beside him.

"I get cold at night," Bluefen told him, her paws becoming sweaty.

The Warlord watched her for a moment, then said, "Yore a poor liar, Bluefen."

Heat bloomed in her cheeks as he continued to stare at her. She looked away as his eyes again traced the outline of her body beneath the thin shift. After a few moments, she couldn't stand the silence or Swartt's suggestive gaze any longer and said the first thing that came to mind that she could connect to him with.

"Who is Scumtripe?" she blurted.

Swartt's eyes widened suddenly. "What did you say?"

Bluefen opened her mouth to answer him, but the Warlord abruptly pounced on her and pinned her to the ground.

"Where'd you 'ear that?" he hissed menacingly. "You been spyin' on me?"

The maiden shook her head vigorously. "No, sir! No! I wouldn't do th-"

Swartt shook her violently. "Then where'd you 'ear it?!"

"When you were choking me in your sleep," Bluefen babbled, "you said it! I wasn't spying, I swear!"

Swartt kept his claws tight around Bluefen's quivering shoulders, staring into her eyes as if trying to find some lie hidden there. At length, he let go and allowed her to sit up, still shaking.

"I'm sorry," Bluefen said in a hoarse whisper. "I just wanted to know..."

"Well, now ye do!" Swartt snarled. "It's nobeast. Nothin' but a dream."

The ferretmaid watched Swartt snatch the lamp up and blow it out, heard him flop down on the pallet and suck in a deep breath.

The tent flap had been left open slightly to allow a cool breeze in, and with it came a sliver of light from the campfires. With that tiny bit of light, Bluefen could see Swartt's muscular chest rise and fall. She lay back (further over from Swartt in case he had another one of those urges to throttle something in his dreams) and stared at the tarp above her. She knew that Swartt was lying about the whole Scumtripe thing, and she was curious as to why he had behaved the way he did when she mentioned it. He had acted almost as if he was... afraid. Swartt afraid, though? It didn't seem very likely.

She turned over on her side and saw that his eyes were open again. For a moment she forgot that the only light that entered the tent fell on him, leaving all else in complete darkness, and quickly shut her eyes. After a second she remembered that he couldn't see her and opened her eyes again. Still staring at the tarp above him. Bluefen allowed herself another look at him as he lay there, oblivious to her. Not a bad-looking male. Tall, muscular, and if it weren't for that war paint, handsome, even.

Bluefen abruptly shut her eyes as Swartt turned his head her way, forgetting again that he couldn't see her. She heard the blankets rustle softly as something moved. It stroked her thigh gently, and she tensed. The maid opened her eyes and saw Swartt swiftly withdraw his paw to fold it back across his stilled one. He went back to staring at the tarp, his eyes glazing again.

Bluefen turned over and faced away from him, shivering despite the broiling heat.


	4. Lies and Truths

Nothing had seemed to go Swartt's way for the past several days. Rumor had spread throughout the camp that they were lost, and when Sixclaw told them that they would be staying here for a while, it had just about been confirmed. Why else would Swartt order them to remain on the boiling, windswept plains? A few hordebeasts that did not have the luxury of a tent claimed that they had seen the Warlord's vixen and two other creatures slipping off into the night, back the way they had come, several days ago. They knew that she must be backtracking, and they hoped that she would get them back on the right trail soon. Without a river or stream, and no vegetation or birds about, they would be in a world of hurt if she didn't. Water supplies were already horribly low, and the food supply was faring no better.

If there was a beast who had suffered more than any other since arriving on the baking flatlands, it was Bluefen. She did her best to stay away from Swartt and his seemingly-constant dark mood, but her duty as his wife always forced her back into his presence to feed him, wash his clothes, tidy the tent. Once, while she was off somewhere else within the camp, enjoying her time away from Swartt, the Warlord's two assassins, Scarback and Marbul, had come and found her. She recognized one of the weasels to be the beast that had almost knifed her in the crowd on the day her father was found dead. They told her that Swartt had sent them to fetch her.

That had been enough to make Bluefen pale. She tried to tell them that she was busy, but they were persistent. The two weasels ended up taking her by the arms and dragging her back to the Warlord's tent, kicking and biting.

Apparently Swartt had wanted his dinner brought to him early, and Bluefen hadn't been their to cook it. Despite his temper, the Warlord never hit her hard enough to leave a bruise, though his stinging slaps did make several welts on her face again.

Now, Swartt was slumped moodily on a pile of cushions in his tent, Bluefen washing some of his clothing in a tub in the corner. The laundry couldn't be washed or hung outside here on the plains; the wind carried with it dirt and grit every time it blew, and the clothing would end up just as filthy as it was before it had been washed.

"Wine," Swartt said suddenly, and Bluefen dropped her washing back into the tub to carry a flask to him. He uncorked it and tilted it upward: barely enough to wet his throat. The surly Warlord threw the container at Bluefen, as if it were her fault it had been almost empty, and demanded something else. The hapless young wife could not find anything for him. The Warlord snarled something unintelligible and let the matter drop, allowing Bluefen to slink back to her corner and sweat under his black gaze while she continued the laundry.

The two ferrets looked up as the tent flap opened and Nightshade slipped inside, a sack over her shoulder.

"Out," Swartt said to Bluefen.

She left the washing for the second time to go outside the tent and stand with the two weasels, Scarback and Marbul, who were waiting for Nightshade to dismiss them when she returned. Marbul withdrew something from his belt pouch and bit into it with a crunch. It was an apple. Bluefen kept her eyes on the red and gold fruit as the weasel produced another just like it and tossed it over to Scarback. So, Nightshade had found the trail again! As she watched the two assassins munch away, her stomach growled loudly.

Marbul, the meaner of the two, snorted and leaned against a lantern post and looked away. He obviously wasn't planning on sharing. Bluefen looked over at Scarback. He patted his pouch and shrugged his wiry shoulders to indicate that he had nothing to offer her. The maiden looked gloomily at the ground and wrapped her arms around her rumbling belly.

Nightshade emerged from the tent a short while later, looking relieved and weary. Bluefen started inside, but the vixen stopped her and gestured to the two assassins. They pushed past her and the ferretmaid was left to huff and cross her arms over her chest while she waited again.

When the tent flap opened a few minutes later, Bluefen was surprised when Swartt stepped out, the two weasels behind him. He had a lumpy sack over his shoulder and a malicious smile on his face. He nodded for Scarback and Marbul to go ahead, then he turned to Bluefen.

"There's some fruit an' stuff in there," he gestured at the tent with his mailed paw. "Eat what ye like, but save a bit. We've got another two days march before we're out of this desert." With that, he turned on his heel and vanished amidst the tents, headed toward the outskirts of the camp.

Bluefen ducked into the tent to find some roots, tubers, and russet apples lying in front of the pile of cushions Swartt had been lounging on earlier. She set aside a few things for herself before gathering the rest of it and placing in her little wicker basket. There would not be enough for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for two more days, but what could she possibly do about that?

The ferretmaiden was munching an apple and finishing up the washing when Swartt returned, a content look on his face. She looked up at him, and, to her surprise, he smiled at her.

"Likin' that apple?"

Bluefen swallowed the bite she had been chewing and nodded.

Swartt strode over to his pile of cushions and tugged his cloak off; after he had broken the catch in a fit of rage he had begun tying it to keep it on. "Good," he said. "There's a lot more like it where we're 'eaded. Birds, fish, fruit! Enough to make up for these few days ten times over."

Bluefen wrung the brackish water out of the last piece of clothing and laid it out to dry, glad that Swartt was in a good mood.

"What'd you do with the rest of it?"

The young wife went over to the trunk Swartt was standing by and pulled her wicker basket out of it. She opened it up and held it out to him. The Warlord withdrew an apple and sunk his red-dyed fangs into it as Bluefen replaced the basket and shut the trunk lid. She went back over to the wash tub where she had left her own fruit and finished it off; she even ate the core.

As she was licking her claws of the sweet juice, Swartt tossed something at her. She looked down to see her nightshift at her footpaws. Bluefen glanced up at Swartt: he was turned away, unbuckling his snakeskin belt and pulling off his own clothing. The maiden reached down absently and picked up the gown, her wide eyes riveted on the Warlord. He tossed his tunic into the trunk, not bothering to fold it or tell Bluefen to, and began blowing out the lamps about the tent. All the time Bluefen watched him, admiring the way he moved, his broad shoulders and muscular chest, the sleek muscles of his arms and back...

The maiden started. What was she thinking?! She shook her head, as if trying to clear the less than clean thoughts from her mind. It couldn't be just her. That's right, it was autumn! That time of year had almost arrived. That was why she was thinking like that. She looked over at Swartt again, and jumped when she saw him staring back at her. He didn't seem the slightest bit embarrassed or uncomfortable. In fact, he was smirking slightly, as if he found it amusing that she was so fascinated by his bared body. He turned away after a moment to put out the other lamps, and Bluefen's face felt like it was aflame. She gave her back to him and quickly swapped her dress for the nightshift.

Swartt kept one lamp burning to see with and took it over to the sleeping pallet, where he sat down and slipped off his gauntlet. Bluefen joined him and lay down on top of the blankets; it really was too hot for the shift, but she did not share the confidence Swartt had in sleeping in one's own skin. That, and she didn't want him to give her that look, that hungry look where she was the sheep and he the wolf. She heard Swartt suck air in sharply through his teeth and looked over at him.

He had his dead paw on his lap and was wrapping another bandage about it, around his wrist and the bottom of his paw to keep the joint from bending. Bluefen observed closely, intrigued, as he made a knot in the bandage and severed it with his teeth. She had never gotten a good look at the paw out of its chain-mail gauntlet. The maid looked up and saw Swartt watching her.

"Know 'ow this happened?" he said softly, lifting his six clawed paw. Bluefen propped herself up on one elbow and shook her head. He continued, in the same quiet tone, as if expecting somebeast to be listening in. "T'weren't long ago it happened. It was a big beast that did it: a badger. Attacked me with a mace while I was sleepin'. Lucky I woke up an' rolled aside when he swung it or he would've killed me. Instead, he missed an' hit my paw. Couldn't move it after that."

Bluefen's already wide eyes got even bigger. "What happened to the badger?"

Swartt sat back, a grim smile on his face. "Tracked 'im down and slew 'im. Nobeast'll ever get the better of me."

The ferretmaid looked at the unmoving paw again, feeling strangely privileged at knowing how it came to be that Swartt wore the gauntlet over it.

"Now," he said, "time to get some rest. We 'ave a long march ahead of us."

Bluefen turned over onto her side as the Warlord blew out the lamp, plunging the tent into total darkness. The flap was completely closed because of the wind that had picked up with the fall of eventide, and the ferretmaid couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed that she couldn't see her husband with the light of the campfire outside as she had a few nights ago. Despite not being able to see him, however, she could tell that he was awake, and that he was staring at the tent tarp above them.

"Is that who Scumtripe is?" she whispered. "The badger?" His reply made her cringe.

"Go to sleep," she heard him hiss savagely. "I don't want to hear anymore of it!"

Bluefen heard him turn over on his side, most likely facing away from her, and she suddenly wished she hadn't said anything. How could she have known, though? Anything seemed to be able to set Swartt off. As she drifted off to sleep, she hoped that wherever her husband was leading the horde was as wonderful as he had described. Maybe then he'd be happy.

* * *

Swartt woke early that next morning. He was excited and ready to get the horde moving. Bluefen woke to the feeling of him nudging her in the belly with his footpaw.

"Get up, you need to start packing."

Bluefen yawned, sat up and stretched. She looked up at Swartt through sleep-glazed eyes. He was already dressed and had his sword strapped on. The Warlord went over to the trunk and dug through their belongings until he found what he was looking for.

The ferretmaid was presented with a knife and two cups filled with berries, roots, and leaves. Swartt instructed her to crush them up with the handle to make two different colored dyes, purple and green. While Bluefen ground away at the herbs with the knife handle, the Warlord hurriedly threw things into the trunk, failing to fold anything but not caring. He dropped the glass-covered oil lamps into the trunk without wrapping them carefully with cloth, as Bluefen always did while packing, and the cover for one of the lamps cracked when it bounced off another. Swartt hardly even noticed it as he whipped the blanket off of Bluefen, who was still sitting in her nightgown.

The ferretmaid was dragged forward a couple feet as Swartt snagged hold of the blankets beneath her and pulled. She fell backward, trying frantically to keep the dyes from spillling as he continued to jerk on the blankets until he had them out from under her.

"I think they're ready," she said, stirring one of the dyes with the handle and checking for lumps.

Swartt went over to the basin and began scrubbing away at his face with a cloth, removing all of the previous paint from his face. He checked his teeth in the water's surface: good. Still red. "Stripes," he told Bluefen as he knelt before her. "Like what I had before."

His young wife blinked at him. Seeing Swartt without his war paint was strange, like she was looking at a completely different creature. He was indeed a rather good looking beast...

"Bluefen, the dye!" he said sharply.

The maid had let a tiny bit spill out of the cup as she unknowingly tilted it. Dipping a claw into one dye, she reached up to the Warlord's face, hesitated for a second, then began to paint a jagged bolt of lightning from his temple to his jaw. She dipped another claw into the other dye and began alternating so that there was an equal amount of purple and green paint. Swartt stopped her as she reached down to get some more paint onto her claw.

"That's enough. Wash yer paws and get dressed, now. I have everythin' packed but what yer wearin'."

Bluefen obeyed. When she had gotten all of the dye off her paws (which took a bit of scrubbing), she took the basin outside and emptied it, then brought it back in to be placed in the trunk. When he closed the lid, her husband told her to undress and sat down on the trunk with her change of clothing in his paws, watching.

Heat began working its way up her face again. She faced away from him so that she couldn't see him staring. Swartt didn't like that.

"None of that, now. Turn around," he said, sounding annoyed.

Once more, Bluefen did as she was bid, though every fiber of her being objected. With her cheeks blazing like the midday sun, the ferretmaiden let the loose, thin shift slip from her shoulders and pool at her footpaws with a soft sigh. She kept her eyes on the ground, not wanting to look up and see Swartt oggling her.

The Warlord sensed her embarrassment, and a smirk found its way onto his face. "Quite the modest one, aren't you?" he said. Bluefen did not reply to this, but her lip quivered, something that Swartt did not fail to notice. "Aww, come on, don't start blubberin'! Nothin' wrong with lettin' yer husband see ye."

Bluefen made a lunge for the dress when he held it out to her at last. When she was close enough to snatch hold of it, though, Swartt pretended as if he were going to grab her. The maiden let out a cry and tripped backward, and he laughed. As she stood trembling on the other side of the tent with the dress clutched to her, Swartt picked up the nightshift and dropped it into the trunk. He looked over at her, a wolfish grin on his war painted features, then chuckled to himself and slipped out the tent flap.

The maid pulled her dress over her head and smoothed out the wrinkles with paws that shook. She was beginning to think that while this place might be good for Swartt's mood, it wasn't going to change anything in that black heart of his.


	5. Midnight Assault

Please remember to leave a review before you close this window. More reviews = more readers = more chapters. 3

~Orion

* * *

It was beautiful, utterly beautiful. Bluefen's eyes roved over the landscape before her: lush, thick-bladed grass dotted with wildflowers, fruit trees bordered by tiny patches of mushrooms, a broad stream heavily lined with watercress and milling with fish… it was almost enough to make her forget about her sore footpaws.

A sudden shouting dragged her attention away, and she turned to see the horde facing Swartt, cheering and praising his genius. They had no idea that their Warlord was almost as relieved as they were to have found this place. Swartt was smiling, but it was a smug look, aimed at those who had believed him to be lost.

* * *

A while later, most of the tents had been pitched, and fires glowed cheerfully about the picturesque spot. The smell of cooking fish drifted on the warm breeze, and the sound of splashing came from the water as hordebeasts and their families played and scooped up watershrimp and tadpoles.

Bluefen was chatting happily with a few other females as they prepared fish and cut fruit into small slices. Her footpaws were still a bit tender, but her throat was no longer dry and her stomach had stopped growling; with all of the fruit and fish the foragers were bringing back, she had been able to eat as much as she liked as she cooked. Somebeast would always return with another chub or apple, and she nibbled until her belly was full. She was debating whether or not to sample a few mushrooms when Nightshade appeared beside her. The vixen selected an apple from the pile at Bluefen's footpaws. She sat down and polished it on her arm as she spoke.

"I can't remember the last time I had a nice, juicy apple. I've heard these here are rather good. You've had the chance to try one, I'm sure?"

Bluefen had just beheaded another perch. Pushing it over to another female who would spear and roast it, she wiped her bloody paws on her apron. "They're very good. Everything here is. Have you had any fish yet?"

"I haven't," Nightshade replied. She bit into the fruit, nodded appreciatively, and swallowed. "Neither has Swartt. Perhaps you ought to bring him some. Oh, don't give me that look. You want him to stay happy, don't you?"

Bluefen looked over to where Swartt was sitting with his captains. He wasn't smiling anymore, but he wasn't yelling either. Taking Nightshade's advice, the maid loaded up a plate with fruit and fish and started over to him.

"Aah, lookit!" one of the captains cried as Bluefen approached. He snagged a few mushrooms from the plate she carried as she passed by, and the others did likewise. By the time she got to Swartt, there was little left. He was talking about the horde's future, about all of the wonderful things that were going to happen, and was so engrossed in his speech that, though he was hungry, he pushed Bluefen's plate away as she lowered it down to him. He didn't even look at her.

"Give me one good season travelin' south'n'west an everybeast in the land'll be flockin' to my banner, you'll see," he was saying.

Bluefen turned to go, slightly disappointed that he hadn't acknowledged her, but pleased that he hadn't sworn or struck at her.

"Is that where the badger is?"

Bluefen leaned down to serve another beast, her ears pricked attentively. She involuntarily cringed slightly as Swartt's voice changed to a menacing snarl.

"Who told you about the badger?"

"Some o' those beasts you were running with before you came to the tents of Lord Bowfleg," the other beast replied. Blufen recognized the voice, and knew it was Scraw, a rat her father had put a great deal of trust in when he had been alive. He sounded unafraid, and Bluefen admired him for that. "They say the badger is young, but a great warrior, fearless in battle…"

"What else do they say?" There was an anxious edge to the Warlord's voice. "Tell me."

"They say he was the one who ruined your sixclawed paw, made it dead forever, and that you have sworn to slay him."

Bluefen straightened up slowly, a frown hovering about her brow. The badger was dead, though; Swartt had said so himself. A sudden loud banging sound made her jump and glance over her shoulder: Swartt had flattened his metal drinking cup with the chain-mailed gauntlet.

"Don't ever make the mistake that my sixclaw is useless," he growled. "It's slain more foebeasts than you've had hot dinners, rat. As for the badger, I hear he calls himself Sunflash the Mace now; take it from me, that one's a walkin' deadbeast!" The Warlord suddenly cut his eyes at Bluefen, who was staring at him. She quickly recovered and hurried away, nearly running into Nightshade as the vixen made her way over to Swartt, another rosy apple in her paw.

When the maid reached the spot where food was still being prepared, she chanced a look back to where Swartt sat with his officers and Nightshade. He was talking again, the snarl gone from his lips. Bluefen was confused. Swartt had told her he had slain the badger with his own paw, yet here he was telling his captains that the badger was still alive. She wondered why he had lied to her, but didn't have much time to mull it over, for a brace of fish was plopped down in front of her, ready for her knife.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful. After everybeast had gotten their fill of the food, she had no task to keep her busy, and ended up wandering back to the tent, where she lay down and fell asleep. She had been intending only to nap, but ended up sleeping until evening, until a sharp sound woke her. Bluefen yawned and stretched for a moment, then sat upright and rubbed tiredly at her eyes. She looked over through the open tent flap and her heart skipped a beat: it was dark outside. Scared that her slip would earn her another clout to the face, she jumped up and started out to get something for Swartt's dinner.

"Where're you goin'?"

Bluefen whirled to find Swartt sitting on her father's trunk, a flask in his paw. It must have been him that had woken her. The Warlord took a swig from the flask and licked his lips. "Well?"

"Um, I was just going to fetch your supper, Sire," she said quickly, unable to help but wonder how long he had been there. "I was only intending to nap, but I must have been so tired that I didn't wake up. I didn't realize I was so tired, but I guess I…" she trailed off lamely. Her husband was no longer paying attention to what she was saying; his eyes were tracing her figure again.

"Shut the flap," he ordered.

Bluefen looked outside, then back at him. She did not want to be alone with him, not while he had that look in his eyes. "But Sire, surely you'd like something to eat…" she said meekly.

Swartt swore and got up. Bluefen stepped swiftly aside as he approached. The big ferret let the tent flap fall and tied it shut so the breeze couldn't blow it open. Turning to his wife, he grabbed her arm and pulled her over to a pile of cushions, where he forced her down and told her to stay. Quivering, Bluefen watched him stalk back over to the trunk. When he returned, he was holding the flask and a goblet. He filled the latter with the contents of the flask and passed it to her.

Bluefen's paws were still shaking when she took the goblet, and she spilled a little of the contents; a deep-colored wine dibbled onto her skirt.

" 'Ey, watch it!" Swartt reprimanded her sharply. "That ain't easy to find." He sat down next to her, and Bluefen immediately shifted slightly away. Swartt watched her sip at the goblet for a moment before remarking, "I ought to beat yer."

Bluefen's eyes flashed up. He didn't look angry, nor did it seem as if he were about to strike her, but one never knew. Swartt could move faster than any other beast she had seen. Instinctively, her gaze found the heavy mail gauntlet. Swartt laughed suddenly, a harsh, grating sound.

"No, no… I'd never hit you wid this. Not unless you asked fer it. You wouldn't get up if I did, and then who'd bring me my dinner, eh? O' course, you ain't been very good about that lately, have ye?"

Bluefen looked at the ground. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It won't happen again, Lord. I promise."

"Yer damn right, it won't," he said darkly. "'Cause if it does, you'll be needin' more than a cloth and some water. Got it?" Bluefen nodded again and continued to stare at the ground. Swartt told her to drink the wine he'd given her, and she obeyed. When the goblet was empty, he filled it again, despite her protest.

"Sire, I really don't want any more. I should go and fetch your supper-"

"I ain't 'ungry. Drink."

By her third goblet full, Bluefen was swaying slightly. She blinked owlishly through the glaze of drink at Swartt's blurry figure. "I thing I ougtha' go t'bed," she slurred.

Swartt took one last swig from the flask and corked it. "I got a better idea," he said, taking the goblet from her and setting it aside.

Bluefen smiled at him. "Wassthat?"

Swartt began unfastening his clothing. "You ain't never been with a male before, have ye?" Bluefen hiccupped and giggled, shaking her head. She was too far gone to grasp what was happening, and only began to get an idea of it when Swartt had pushed her down and turned her over onto her belly.

"Schwartt?" she said. "Wha-?"

"Shut up." Bluefen felt the skirt of her dress being pulled up, and some of her mind came back to her. She panicked and tried to flip onto her back, landing awkwardly on her side. When she tried to scuttle back away from her furious husband, he dug his claws into her dress and hauled her under him. Bluefen opened her mouth to scream, but a crushing blow to the stomach left her gasping for air.

"Stop it," Swartt snarled, snatching the hem of her dress and yanking it back up.

Bluefen flailed and, without meaning to, caught the Warlord a smack beneath his right eye. She froze. I'm so sorry, please don't, I'm so, so sorry, I didn't mean to-

_WHACK._

The maid let out a wail and clutched the side of her face. She did not try to stop Swartt again when he rolled her back over onto her belly. She thought it was best to simply bury her burning face in the cushions and let him have her; she did not want to be hit like that again.

"You smell that?"

Bluefen lifted her face from the cushions and twisted around shakily to look at the Warlord. He was sniffing the air, frowning. Swartt let go of her and grabbed his tunic. His wife turned over carefully to watch him dress. She was going to ask what he had smelled when it hit her: smoke. Swartt was in the middle of buckling on his sword when a rally of screams made them both go rigid. The Warlord bolted from the tent, leaving Bluefen to stagger upright and totter after him. She coughed; the smoke was thicker now. Screams rent the air all throughout the camp, and when Bluefen peeked out of the tent flap, she understood why:

Somebeast had set fire to several dozen tents, and she could see more blazes springing up all around her.

"Kchaakah!"

Bluefen shrieked and threw herself to the ground, feeling the draft of wings as the creature raced by. She looked up and saw a massive crow, a flaming bundle on a long string dangling from its claws. It passed over a few closely grouped tents and released the flaming ball. Within seconds, they were all ablaze. The ferretmaid heard a terrified squealing behind her and saw a rat being set upon by three crows.

"The stream! Everybeast into the water!" Swartt's voice bellowed from the stream bank.

Bluefen sprinted for the water, tripping once over the charred body of a stoat. When she reached the stream, Swartt was roaring at his archers and slingbeasts to fire. The maid instinctively covered her head and squeezed into the frenzied mass of creatures in the water; being crushed and jostled was far better than being torn to pieces by crows.

The encounter didn't last long. The crows dove on the hordebeasts, but they were ready with pikes and spears. The dark-winged creatures had no idea what hit them. The few that were left retreated into the night, cawing threats and swearing revenge.

* * *

Those hordebeasts with tents went back to them gratefully. Those without slept in groups on the grass, slings and spears gripped tightly in their paws. Swartt's tent had somehow managed to avoid catching fire, but he was too angry to appreciate the small amount of good fortune. Bluefen was simply too shell-shocked.

When the Warlord entered his tent, his wife was already lying down on the sleeping pallet with her back to him. He assumed she was asleep, and went about removing his weapon and gauntlet. He was surprised when she spoke to him.

"Are they gone?"

Swartt lay his sword down beside the pallet, wanting it to be within paw's reach. "Aye, for now."

"Do you think they'll come back?"

He looked over at his wife's back. "Not tonight. They ain't got the strength to come at us again."

Bluefen heard him lie down beside her and blow out the lamp. "Are we going to leave tomorrow?"

"We are."

"Where are we going?"

"South'n'west."

"Why?"

"Why you askin' so many questions?" Swartt demanded irritably.

Bluefen snuggled deeper into her thin blanket and shut her eyes. "Just curious," she replied.

"Curious for yoreself, or somebeast else?" Sensing the edge to his voice, Bluefen answered quickly.

"I'm no spy, Sire." She held her breath for what seemed like an eternity, until she heard Swartt turn away from her to sleep. She would fall asleep several hours later, her face throbbing unmercifully.


	6. Poison and Honey

Bluefen was up and about far earlier than Swartt, not because she wasn't tired, but because her face was still thumping like a hammer and had kept her from sleeping peacefully. She had ventured, bearing a lantern, out into the dark still that seems to hang in the air like a tangible thing before the sunrise, and dipped water from the stream to bathe her face. The ferret was beginning to think that she should ask Nightshade to instruct her on how to make a simple poultice, seeing as injuries were becoming commonplace in her marriage, and cool water could only do so much. After ministering to her aching face, Bluefen had thought that she would rather sit outside and watch the sunrise than go back to the tent, but decided that the smell of singed fur and feathers was much less bearable than she had imagined.

Swartt was still asleep when she ducked back into the tent. His sixclawed paw lay across his bare midriff, bandaged tight, claws frozen in a clenched curl. Bluefen got onto her knees and inched closer, wanted to look at it again.

A badger did that. With a _mace._

Bluefen could not imagine what it would be like to have one of her paws completely crushed to the point it was useless, and never wanted to have the chance to. The fact that it had been done by a badger, one of those fearsome, gargantuan beasts, made the injury all the more terrifying and awesome. Badgers were natural warriors, and everybeast knew about the berserk rages that they were capable of… It was amazing that Swartt had not been killed.

Much to her own surprise, Bluefen felt a glimmer of pride. _Her_ husband had taken a blow that had relieved him of his left paw while he was _asleep,_ and had still been able to react fast enough and be strong enough to fight off the creature that had surely been three times his size. Bluefen had never seen a badger before, but had heard that they were giant beasts; she assumed that the one who almost took Swartt's life had to be massive, bigger than most. No average, run-of-the-mill creature could get the better of Swartt Sixclaw.

Sixclaw.

Bluefen looked at the bandaged paw again, and couldn't help but sympathize with the slumbering Warlord. She looked into his face, past the war paint, and saw a tired beast with unhealthy, deep halos beginning to show through the natural mask of dark fur about his eyes. He had so much to worry about, so many things to do all the time…

A lightning bolt of pain jagged up her cheek as she forgot herself and rested it on her paw. Swartt had caused this.

He had been so stressed lately, and he had been drinking when he hit her this last time… and she had acted a bit ridiculous when he had tried to… you know. It was natural, though. Husbands and wives were supposed to do that, and Swartt was simply complying with that tradition. It had been herself that had reacted wrongly.

She had deserved to be struck.

Bluefen watched her husband's chest rise and fall, admired his wiry build. She should count herself lucky. There were plenty of females out there that would kill for a male like Swartt: strong, intelligent, and _powerful._ Bluefen's rambling thoughts halted abruptly as an idea came to her:

You could be powerful, too.

The ferret sat up and considered this. Next to his second-in-command, the Warlord's wife was the most influential creature to him. It was she who spent the most time around him, who heard his secret thoughts, learned his habits and weaknesses.

So far, Bluefen knew very little about Swartt, other than the fact that he couldn't stand sharing a blanket, often ground his teeth in his sleep, and hated badgers with a passion. She thought a little harder about why this was. Before they had gone to sleep, Swartt had half accused her of espionage. Trust. He didn't trust her enough to share any information about himself, any of his thoughts. And why didn't he trust her? That was a harder one to answer. Bluefen wondered what she could have possibly done to appear distrustful in his eyes. Nothing came to mind. So far as she could recall, she had been a good little wife to him, doing everything he asked of her, with the exception of a few little blips, but surely those weren't enough to have lost his trust. Bluefen considered a few of the other married females she often chatted with whilst preparing food or washing laundry. She did everything they did, and yet their marriages seemed far better than hers, simply oozing with happiness and trust and blahblahblah.

They had it easy. Bluefen was married to a Warlord, not some simple soldier. Swartt was far more complex than any of those other males, and five times as intimidating. She would like to see how those wives held up if their husbands suddenly developed the frightening temper and went into unpredictable rages that Bluefen dealt with on a daily basis.

Fear.

Bluefen was a bit disappointed at how simple the answer was and how she hadn't realized it until now, but pleased to discover how easily she could solve her problem: don't display fear. In order to have him trust you, you have to trust him. When Swartt is in a dark mood, or goes into one of his rages, there will be no cringing or running. You will endure it silently and calmly, and when Swartt sees that you aren't afraid, he'll respect you for it. After all, very few beasts aren't afraid of Swartt Sixclaw.

Bluefen lay back down next to her husband, closer than she had ever dared to in the past. She considered snuggling against him, but decided that that was taking it a bit too far. Besides, it was safer to keep from touching him in his sleep, in case he mistook her for a badger.

* * *

Swartt was a bit surprised to wake up and find a dish filled with sugared fruit lying next to him. He sat up, nearly knocking over a couple of jars with is elbow in the process. The Warlord sniffed the contents of each: blackberry preserves and honey. Having a fondness for the latter, he dipped a claw in and savored the sweet taste.

Then spat it out.

Bluefen swept into the tent with a basket of scones just in time to see Swartt pull a face and cast about for something to wash his mouth out with. She was more curious than concerned, but managed to pull off the worried tone.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, creasing her brow. The ferretwife put down her basket and went over to Swartt. "What happened?"

"Did you set this out?" he demanded, indicating the food. Bluefen told him that she had. He wanted to know how long ago, and Bluefen assured him it hadn't been a full minute before she returned. The Warlord relaxed when he heard this. He picked the honey jar up again and scooped out another clawful.

"Is there something wrong with it?" she said, genuinely concerned now. She had spent a good while cutting and sugaring that fruit earlier, and didn't want her efforts to go to waste. Bluefen had decided that a little sucking up, tiny things like this breakfast, couldn't hurt as she tried to gain his favor.

Swartt gestured at the basket of scones she had put down a moment ago, and Bluefen brought it over to him. He took a knife from the serving dish the fruit was on and spread the honey over a hot scone as he replied, "It's best you don't leave food sittin' like that. Somebeast could slip a poison in while you ain't lookin'."

Bluefen sat down, spreading her skirt out around her. "I can't imagine why anybeast would even consider doing such a thing," she said innocently.

"Eh, there's always somebeast thinkin' 'e can do a better job," Swartt grumbled, shoving another scone in his mouth. "What's this for, anyway?"

"I woke up early. And… I wanted to apologize for what happened last night."

The big ferret slathered honey on another scone, his face inscrutable. "Huh." Feeling that this would be an awkward place to end the conversation, Bluefen continued.

"It just… caught me by surprise. I'm sorry I… I'm sorry I hit you."

Swartt suddenly demanded she fetch his tunic, and Bluefen became frustrated. She wanted to have this conversation; she had been planning it since she had lain down beside him early this morning, when she had been too excited to go back to sleep. She would apologize, he would forgive her, and then he might apologize for the terrible bruise he had given her, and they would have some sort of personal conversation that only a Warlord and his wife would share-

"Belt," Swartt cut her off as she tried to speak again. Bluefen clamped her jaw shut and got it for him. When he was fully dressed and armed, he headed over to the tent flap and lifted it, pausing to turn and look at Bluefen who was still seated next to the untouched fruit she had worked so hard to prepare.

"See Nightshade about somethin' for yer face. Ye look like a bloated toad." And he was gone.

Bluefen sat staring at the spot where he had stood, her mouth ajar. Then, possessed by a sudden fury, she grabbed the plate of fruit and hurled it, sending the sugared delicacies flying everywhere. She didn't care that she would have to clean it all up afterward. Taking the honey Swartt had been enjoying so much, the ferretwife slipped out of the tent and around behind it, where she flung the jar into the trees; she didn't see it shatter, but she heard the satisfying _smash_.

Her next target was the flask of wine Swartt seemed to cherish so, the one he had forbidden her to drink from. Bluefen snatched it out of the chest and was intending on pouring it out when her sleeve snagged on one of the chest's hinges. She swore loudly and ripped her arm backward, tearing a large gash in the fabric. This new vexation produced several more curses, and did nothing to pacify the fuming ferretwife. She tore the cork out of the flask with her teeth and was about to lob it when something stayed her arm.

"What in the name of fur and fang are you doing?"

Bluefen whirled to look into the paint-daubed face of Nightshade. Before she could stop her, the vixen had plucked the flask from her paws. Bluefen watched her lean down to pick up the cork, feeling her cheeks begin to burn; she was sure she had looked like an idiot, swearing and flinging things about like a madbeast.

The seer straightened up and corked the flask, placing it back in the trunk. She turned back to Bluefen, her look in her eyes demanding explanation.

The ferret was at a loss for words. "I was just… uh…"

The other's expression softened. "It can be a task, looking after him," Nightshade said gently, "but this is no way to deal with the stress. Now you're just going to have to clean this up before he gets back, and just look at your sleeve… Oooh, when did this happen? Last night?" She reached up and gingerly turned the ferret's head so that she could examine the swelling.

Bluefen appreciated the fact that she didn't need to tell her what was wrong, but was a little unnerved by the fact that the vixen just _knew._ She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, though. Nightshade was a seer, after all.

"Yes," she replied, wincing as the vixen pressed lightly on her cheek. Nightshade eventually let go of her and told her to start picking up the mess she had made while she went back to her own tent to fetch some things to make a poultice. Nightshade was gone long enough for Bluefen to pick up all the fruit and begin packing for today's march. When she came back, the vixen ordered Bluefen to come outside with her.

Nightshade got a small fire going to boil water while she set out the rest of the ingredients she would be using: a pawful of chopped herbs, some salts, a red onion, and some sort of oil that had a pleasant, sweet smell to it. While she worked, the vixen explained exactly what she was doing and why. Bluefen got the uncomfortable feeling that this was because Nightshade wanted her to learn how to do it herself, so that next time Swartt beat her, she wouldn't come crawling to the vixen's tent.

How reassuring.

"Steep the herbs in the water for a few minutes, then wrap it all up like so." Bluefen watched as Nightshade tied the ingredients up in a scrap of cloth, knotting the top neatly. "Hold it against the swelling area 'til you see fit to remove it. That should do the trick," she said, handing the little bundle to Bluefen.

"Thank you," she said softly, lifting the poultice up to her cheek. "Thank you so much."

The vixen gave her a motherly smile; she rather liked Swartt's little wife. Digging in her bag, she collected a few pouches and gave them to Bluefen. "Here is everything I've just used to make that, enough for three or four more of them… in case the need arises," she added delicately.

Bluefen accepted the pouches gratefully, but immediately looked troubled. Again, the vixen knew what she was thinking.

"Can you read, Bluefen?" Nightshade asked gently.

Bluefen shifted the poultice on her cheek. "Not very well," she admitted. "I haven't looked at letters or words in a long time."

"All right. I'm going to write some instructions for you, how much to use and the like. I'll explain them, so that it might be easier for you to remember-"

"Nightshade?"

The two creatures looked up to see a scrawny, badly singed rat standing before them. His face and clothing was smudged with ash, and half his whiskers were gone. He wrung his blackened claws, hopping from one footpaw to the other in a fretful dance. "Lord Sixclaw wants to see yer, marm," he said quickly. "He told me to fetch ye quick as I could."

"All right, then. Give me a moment," Nightshade replied, gathering her things and tucking them inside her satchel. As she did so, the rat's eyes strayed to Bluefen and her swollen cheek. The ferret turned away abruptly, trying to hide the poultice, but the rat saw it anyway.

"I'm afraid I'll have to get those instructions to you later," Nightshade said to Bluefen as she slung the satchel over her shoulder. "Just don't do whatever you did last time to earn that and you should be all right, for today at least." Bluefen thanked her again and the vixen strode off to find Swartt. The scorched rat gave Bluefen one last look before turning and following the seer.

No salute, no sign of acknowledgment. She thought that, as the Warlord's wife, she deserved a little more respect than that. Without thinking, she shouted to the retreating soldier:

"Halt, rat!"

The hordebeast stopped and turned round to stare at her. He looked confused; he had been told to collect Nightshade and return to receive further orders by Lord Sixclaw himself, but this dame was telling him differently, and sounded like somebeast who was in charge. Unsure of what to do, he began edging backward in his original direction.

"I said HALT," Bluefen rapped, jumping upright and throwing the poultice down. She wasn't sure why she was doing this; being insulted and ignored had never bothered her much before, but for some reason it stung like a nettle today. "Come here," she ordered, and the rat began shuffling toward her, eyes downcast. She couldn't remember ever having spoken to a beast like this, but wished she had done it sooner; it felt… good.

"Do you know who I am?" Bluefen demanded of the rat, adrenaline making her breathe a little harder than normal.

The rat kept his eyes locked on the ground. "No, marm," he said humbly. "I doesn't."

"I am Bluefen Sixclaw, wife to Swartt, Warlord of this horde," she said imperiously, her voice stronger than it had ever been, "and I demand the respect I'm due!"

The poor soldier blanched visibly and looked as if he were going to faint. He bowed so low and so sudden that his snout bounced off the dirt, stammering apologies. "Fergive me, marm! I didn't know who ye was, please don't say anythin' to Lord Sixclaw, I beg ye, marm!" Bluefen was about to respond to this when another rat, this one far larger and with more whiskers, trotted up beside the other.

The bigger rat grabbed the other by the collar of his sooty tunic and hauled him upright. "Jag, wot're yew doin'? We gotta' get back to Sixclaw!" Bluefen cleared her throat, and the big rat looked up at her.

"I'm speaking with this one," she said flatly. "He may leave when I allow it."

The rat curled his lip at her. "Oh, really now? Well, far as I c'n see, you ain't got no right t'be givin' orders. Only cap'ns can do that."

Bluefen felt her confidence fading fast. The scrawny, subservient rat was much easier to deal with; he was clearly unsure of himself and not as assertive as his crony. Still, the ferret kept her voice strong. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

The big rat pushed Jag in the direction he had come from, and the smaller rat scampered away. "I know who yew are," he sneered at Bluefen. "Swartt's little whore. I seen yew runnin' in an' out o' that tent, slavin' to 'im. Yew think yore any better than us, bein' 'is whore? Well, yew ain't, so get back t'that tent an' cook somethin', afore yew get another shiner like the one yew got now."

Bluefen watched the rat's back as he marched away. She was not thinking about what he had said to her, but the plan she had devised to gain the respect she now felt was necessary. She was so glad that somebeast had already offered to play the vital part.

* * *

So many hits, and so few reviews. You break my heart, readers. Thank you, those of you who leave feedback. You're the reason I keep writing. 3 As for the rest of you... I spit on your mother's haircut.

~Orion


	7. The Warlord's Wife

Reviews. Give them to me.

~Orion

* * *

Swartt ordered the horde to break camp at midmorning. Toting everything they had managed to salvage from the charred ruin of the site, the mass of creatures began their lengthy march southwest. At the rear of the horde, Sixclaw stood with a line of archers gathered around a fire. He ordered burning arrows to be fired into the pine grove of the crows, baring his red fangs in a malicious grin as a torrent of flame erupted from the natural firetrap when the arrows hit.

Bluefen was marching alongside Nightshade near the front of the horde. She looked over her shoulder to see the pitiful remains of the crows fleeing the smoke and fire, heard their terrified squawks as their home burned to the ground. The ferret turned back around, a grim smile of satisfaction on her face.

* * *

"So, you've been with him a long time?" Bluefen was talking with Nightshade. She hadn't thought about it before, but befriending her husband's seer was a wise thing to do. If anybeast knew anything about Swartt, it would be Nightshade.

"As long as I can remember," the vixen replied. "He gave me a purpose, and I have sworn to serve him until the end of my days."

Bluefen was a little surprised. "He isn't making you stay?"

"I doubt he would let me leave, anyway," Nightshade chuckled. "I know he's cold, cruel, and generally downright damnable, but that's what makes a Warlord. And Swartt is smart. Just look what he's done: gone from leader of a band of scavengers to leader of a horde!- apologies in regards to your father, though. Swartt Sixclaw will soon be name feared throughout every country, and this horde will be so mighty, none will dare to oppose him. Believe me, only a fool would desert this horde." As she was speaking, the vixen became louder and louder, and eventually everybeast around them was glancing in their direction.

"Speaking of deserters," Bluefen said quietly, leaning over to Nightshade, "I've been hearing things, and I think Swartt ought to be told."

Nightshade stopped smiling and looked at her. "What sort of things?" she demanded softly.

Bluefen struggled to speak over the marching of footpaws, rustling of gear, and beat of the drums, yet keep it soft enough to avoid others from hearing. "You recall how muttering is still going around, even with Wildag and Lardtail gone? Well, I think I found out who's causing it…"

Nightshade leaned in so close that she nearly trod on Bluefen's footpaws. "Who?"

"His name is Gromm," she hissed. "He's a rat, tall and broad-shouldered. Wears a woven belt and carries a short sword. I've heard him conspiring with a few mates of his. They don't like the way things are going, and I heard Gromm say that if it keeps on this way, they're going to desert, and take a good few with them." Bluefen had done a little detective work this morning, had found out the name of the rat that had insulted her, and who his cronies were. He wasn't a conspirator, of course, but that didn't matter.

"You're sure he's the leader?" Nightshade whispered. Bluefen nodded, and the vixen gave her a curious look. "Why haven't you told Swartt yourself?"

"I don't think he'll take me seriously. He trusts you more," the ferretwife told her, keeping the resentment out of her voice.

The seer set her jaw grimly. "It shall be taken care of this evening." For a moment, there was an ominous silence, then Bluefen spoke up again.

"Does Swartt ever… talk about me?"

Nightshade's face remained inscrutable. "He has."

"What did he say?" Bluefen asked anxiously.

The vixen smiled at her. "You shouldn't worry so much. Swartt trusts you a good deal more than you think." Bluefen snorted at this, and Nightshade shook her head. "Do you prepare his food?" she asked.

Bluefen frowned. "Yes…"

"Does he eat it?"

"Yes."

"Does he ever question it beforehand?"

"…No."

"And do you not share a tent?" Nightshade said. "You could easily murder him in his sleep should you so choose."

"That's not trust," Bluefen muttered. "He just doesn't think I'm capable of poisoning or stabbing him."

The vixen cut her eyes at her. "Then what is it that makes you think he doesn't trust you?"

Bluefen stepped on a rock and swore. She was beginning to think they were out to get her. "He won't talk to me! It's like he's afraid I'm going to learn something about him." Nightshade laughed at this, and the ferretwife scowled at her.

"Darling," she said, "you should have already learned one thing. It isn't that he doesn't want to talk to _you_, it's just that he doesn't like to talk. He's always been that way, very dour. That, and he has a lot more to think about now that he's a Warlord. You ought to give him some slack."

Bluefen looked sullenly ahead at Swartt, who was marching at the very front of the company. How was she supposed to get to know him if he wouldn't talk to her?

"Why are you suddenly so worried about his faith in you?"

The question caught Bluefen by surprise. While she fished desperately around in her brain for an excuse, Nightshade smiled again. She had beaten her to it.

"You not only want him to be your Warlord, but your husband as well, correct?"

Bluefen sighed. "Yes," she said. It wasn't a lie. If Swartt trusted and respected her, the horde ought to follow suit. At least, she thought so.

"Bluefen," Nightshade said, "may I be blunt with you?" The ferret shrugged.

"I suppose."

"A servant brings food and drink to their master. They wash his clothes and help him dress. They listen to him rant and often feel the brunt of his anger. Sound familiar?"

"Sounds like me," the ferretwife sighed despondently.

Nightshade nodded. "You're a servant to him, Bluefen. That's how he sees you. Perhaps, if you were to behave more like a wife, he'd see you as one."

"How?" Bluefen hissed. "How am I supposed to do that when a wife's duties are no different from a servant's?"

"Aah, but they are," the vixen replied. She reached up and touched the ferret's face, examining it. "Your face looks much better; does it still hurt?"

Bluefen shook her head. "No, not much."

"Do you mind telling me what you did to deserve a bruise that big?" It didn't take long for Bluefen to get the hint, and when she did, the seer nodded knowingly. "You _are _his wife," she told her, "but you have yet to consummate the marriage. Perhaps that will help."

"_AAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEE!"_

The hordebeasts looked left and right, looking for the source of the sound. There was a beating of wings, and everybeast looked up: a rat was being hoisted into the air by a score of crows at the back of the horde, kicking and screaming. They stared in mute horror as the crows released him, and he plummeted to the earth in a wailing bundle.

Archers were sent to the back of the marching mass, facing backward, bows strung and at the ready. The crows saw the danger of attacking the rear again, and picked off another rat from the middle right flank. Before sundown, one more rat had fallen victim to the winged attackers, and everybeast marching at the front of the company gave Swartt more room as he cursed and ranted. He ordered Nightshade up front with him, so that he could berate her for giving him the idea of burning the pine grove, and Bluefen was left to march by herself and do some thinking.

When night fell, the horde was forced to stop and make camp. A ring of fires was kept burning around the camp, preventing the crows from picking anybeast off the outskirts. With half the soldiers standing upright with spears, pikes, and javelins, the other half was allowed to rest. Swartt sent Nightshade to scout ahead and find a solution to their crow problem, and she slipped through the protective fire ring undetected, looking for all the world like a wraith in her long hooded cloak.

In the Warlord's tent, Bluefen was serving Swartt his dinner. There had been no chance to fish or hunt, what with guard duties for half the horde at a time, as well as the danger of crow attacks, so the ferretwife had nothing to offer the Warlord but fruit she had stored in her wicker basket during the stay near the stream. Swartt sat slumped on some cushions, munching a pear moodily. He did not speak to his wife.

Having served Swartt, Bluefen sat down and selected a rosy apple. She wondered if Nightshade had told her husband about Gromm. If so, he certainly didn't look like he was going to do anything about it. Bluefen couldn't help but wonder if he would take her seriously should she say anything about it. She put the apple down.

"Sire?"

Swartt's eyes flicked up at her. He didn't say anything, though, just kept chewing. Bluefen twisted her apron in her paws.

"Sire, I know who's behind all the muttering in the horde," she said quickly, feeling she would lose her nerve if she didn't get it out.

Swartt stopped eating. He leaned forward, his dark eyes sharp and attentive now. "You do?" he said.

Bluefen nodded. Feeling it would add to the charade, she looked over at the tent flap, as if expecting someone to be listening in, before she turned back to him. "It's Gromm," she whispered. Swartt seemed to recognize the name, and Bluefen wrung her apron until it stretched the fabric.

"Huh," Swartt grunted. "Never thought that one was bright enough to think fer 'imself."

'I've heard him talking," Bluefen lied. "He says he's going to take that blade of his and… deal with you himself. He says it will solve a lot of problems, and that as soon as he's Warlord, he'll take everybeast back to the scrublands. There are quite a few beasts that support him, that want to go back. I don't know if he meant it, Lord, but I wouldn't want to leave it to chance. He could be dangerous."

Swartt was staring at his gauntlet, a peculiar light glittering in his eyes. Bluefen's heart leapt to see it.

"Thinks he can 'deal with' me himself," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a dark smile. The Warlord raised his eyes to Bluefen, and his sharp teeth glistened a chilling red in the lamplight. "Well, I do enjoy a good skinning every now an' then," he said matter-of-factly, standing up. "Get me a knife."

Bluefen dug the weapon out of the chest and brought it to her husband. As she handed it to him, she said, "'Tis too bad you don't have another dead crow handy." Swartt stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Ahahahahahaaa! Aye, t'was a good show, wasn't it?" he guffawed.

Bluefen forced her most charming smile. "It did leave a lasting impression on the horde." Swartt shook his head, chuckling, and headed out into the night. Bluefen followed close behind.

"Comin' to watch, are ye?" Swartt asked when he realized she was behind him.

Bluefen hurried to walk beside him. "I've never seen a skinning before," she said excitedly. She didn't have to fake it; she was excited, not so much about watching the skinning, but being there to see Gromm's face when Swartt pronounced the sentence. Gromm would look at her, and he would be sorry for everything he had said, but it would be too late. She had heard him talking this morning to his cronies about how he had told her off, how funny it had been when she had started to cry. She was glad the scum sucking filth had told them that; they would know that she was the reason he was about to die, and they would be afraid of her, for if she could lie about Gromm and have him skinned, could it not happen to any one of them?

Respect born out of fear.

It didn't take long to find the rat in question. He was on guard duty, holding a pike aloft, his eyes half shut. He had no idea what was happening until he was flat on his back in the dirt, staring up into the face of Swartt Sixclaw.

"I hear you've been sayin' some nasty things, mate," Swartt said, and hordebeasts all around turned to watch, waking those who were asleep and nodding at the Warlord. They had all enjoyed the last public punishment a good deal.

Gromm was speechless with terror. He looked at Swartt, then at Bluefen, who stood at the front of the spectators, looking on impassively. The horrified rat began shaking his head fervently. "I didn't say nothin', Lord! I didn't say nothin', I swears it!" He tried to scuttle backward, but Swartt stepped on his tail, pinning him.

"Know what I think, Gromm? I think yer lyin' to me." The Warlord produced the knife and held it up; the firelight played across the cold steel, making it glimmer in his paw like a flame itself. He looked down at the rat. "Know what I do to liars, Gromm?"

The rat let out a choked sob, then broke down, tears rolling down his dirty snout. "Oh, please, Sire, don't kill me! I didn't mean nothin' I said, honest!" He looked at Bluefen and wailed, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't let 'im-" Swartt had smashed him across the face with his mailed paw. The Warlord turned to a few soldiers, one of them that Bluefen recognized to be a crony of Gromm's.

"You three, c'mere and hold 'im," he ordered.

It took far longer for Gromm to die than Bluefen thought it would. Though the scene was unbearably gruesome, she forced herself to watch, should Swartt look up and see her averting her eyes. When Gromm's screams were finally stilled, Swartt buried the knife in the carcass and stood up. His arms were stained up to the elbows, and blood spattered his tunic and face. He looked out at the spectators.

"I can't abide liars," he told them, his voice carrying so that everybeast could hear. "Gromm 'ere said 'e was gonna' kill me, take my title for 'imself. As you can see, he lied. Now, I won't stand for all this talkin' behind my back. If you have a problem with me, I suggest you come talk with _me_ 'bout it, 'stead of yer mates. It won't do you much good," he added darkly. "Now… does anybeast else fancy bein' Warlord?" There was a baleful silence in which many creatures shuffled uncomfortably, eyes locked on the ground.

Swartt smiled. "Well, all right, then." Bluefen joined him as he started back to their tent, and the crowd parted to let them through, murmuring softly. On a whim, she took hold of his arm, despite the gore that stained it. The Warlord did not shake her off, but seemed quite amused, and let her cling to him all the way back to the tent.

Upon arriving, he told Bluefen to fill a basin with water and fetch a cloth. As she hurried to obey him, Swartt plopped down and pulled the bloody gauntlet off. Bluefen brought him the water and sat down before him, cloth in her paw. When he tried to take it from her, she pulled it away.

"Let me," she cooed. Having soaked the cloth in the basin, she wrung it out and draped it over a paw, reached up to his face, then paused.

"It will take off the paint," she said.

"You can repaint it," he told her.

Bluefen leaned forward and began to carefully wipe the blood away, taking all the paint with it; it would be easier to just repaint it all. Swartt watched her as she worked, and it made her a little nervous, but she managed to ignore him for the most part. When she got to his right arm, she took his hefty paw in her tiny one and began scrubbing away at the crimson mess.

"What did he do to you?" Swartt asked her casually.

Bluefen looked up from her task, eyes round as saucers. "W-what?"

A knowing smile twitched onto the Warlord's features. "Gromm didn't 'ave the guts to say what you told me 'e said. He must've done somethin' to upset ye."

The ferretwife looked back down at his arm and began scrubbing again, though with less vigor. It took her a moment to find her voice. "He said something nasty to me…"

"Oh? An' what was this nasty thing 'e said?"

Bluefen rinsed the cloth in the basin, the water now a pinkish color. "He called me a whore," she said, wringing the cloth.

Swartt clicked his tongue. "Ah, t'was a nasty thing to say. I trust yer pleased with 'is punishment?"

"I am," she replied, cleaning the last bit of gore from his arm. "Excuse me, I need to fetch new water…" Bluefen picked up the basin and took it outside to dump the contents. As she prepared to duck back into the tent, she saw a couple of weasels looking at her. They quickly turned around when they realized she was watching, and Bluefen smiled to herself. It had worked.

When she returned, she refilled the basin and set to work on his left arm. Bluefen was especially careful here, though she didn't have to clean near his stilled paw because it had been shielded from the gore by the gauntlet, which she had placed in the basin to rinse.

"There," she said when she had finished. "Oh… your tunic."

Swartt looked down at the splattering on it. He began to pull it off, though with some difficulty as he could only use one paw. Again, Bluefen offered to assist him, and he let her.

The ferretwife gently tugged it over his head and replaced the gauntlet with the tunic in the basin. She doubted she would get all the blood out of the clothing, but knew the task would prove easier if it soaked for a bit. As she rinsed her paws, Swartt took blankets from the trunk and laid them out to prepare a sleeping pallet.

"Where's the other blanket?" Bluefen asked when she saw only two: one beneath Swartt, and one on top.

"Don't need it," Swartt said. "Take that dress off an' c'mere."

Bluefen thought she was going to faint. Taking a deep breath, she untied her apron and folded it neatly to set atop the trunk. Her paws trembled slightly as she began to tug off the dress, but she did as her husband bid her, and pulled it over her head. The night air was cool on her bare body, and she shivered slightly as she laid the dress across the trunk lid.

"That's more like it," Swartt murmured as she forced herself to turn to him. "C'mere, now." Bluefen stepped tentatively toward the Warlord, telling herself over and over that this was a good thing. This needed to happen.

She felt her courage waver as he got that look again, that wolfish look, and held out his paw to her. She took it, and he pulled her down onto the blanket with him. It took all Bluefen's willpower not to pull away, but she managed to hold still as Swartt looked her over with that disturbing glint in his eyes, ran his paw over her. He smiled unnervingly, then reached over to the lamp.

"Wouldn't be decent of us to give the rest of the camp a show, eh?" And the tent was plunged into darkness.

In the end, Bluefen was glad that Swartt had extinguished the lamp, that way he couldn't see her tears. He knew she had never lain with a malebeast before, but that didn't seem to change anything. The Warlord took her hard and fast, either so focused on his pleasure that he couldn't hear her cries and moans, or just ignored them. When he was finished with her, he rolled off his sobbing wife and went to sleep without a word to her.


	8. Alone

It had been three days since Swartt's great horde had resumed its march southwest from the stream. In that time, the Warlord's luck had taken a turn for the better; not only had he rid himself of the crows that had been torturing his soldiers, but he had acquired a good deal more. Two days earlier, Nightshade had been sent out in search of a possible solution to their crow problem. She had found a gorge, riddled with caves, and the horde had taken shelter in them. As it turned out, however, a tribe of foxes already inhabited the caves. Once they had taken care of the crows outside, the foxes were only too happy to join Swartt, provided they receive metal weapons in place of their crude bolases, and their leader, Shang Damsontongue, joint leadership of the horde. Swartt promised Shang both, and they sealed the pact with fine wine from the southlands.

Now, the Warlord was faced with only one problem: Balefur. The big fox from Shang's band was well liked among the horde, and this worried Swartt. He did not want any rebel rousers, and if Swartt didn't have the fox completely on his side, Balefur was a danger to his leadership. He couldn't have that.

"Set out some more o' that bird. Aye, there. Nonono, leave the wine be. 'Tis fine where it is."

Bluefen winced as she bent over to place the woodpigeon down where Swartt had indicated. Her whole body ached. So far, her husband's attitude toward her hadn't changed one bit. He still ignored her during marches, while she served his meals, and any other time they were alone together, but at night… At night he gave her more attention than she wanted. The Warlord was pitiless, and no matter how much she begged or cried, he was just as rough with her each time as he had been the first. He seemed to enjoy hurting her, and pleading usually only resulted in more bruises.

Or bite marks.

"That'll do," Swartt said dismissively, and Bluefen turned to leave. As she passed the Warlord, he gave her a stinging slap on the rear. The ferretwife jumped and hurried out of the tent, leaving Swartt's chuckling behind her. Well, it was more attention than he had given her in the past, but she couldn't say she appreciated it.

Lowering herself gingerly onto the soft grass outside the tent, Bluefen spread her skirt out around her and folded her paws in her lap. She had no duties anymore, besides seeing to Swartt's needs. The other wives that she had previously gossiped and cooked with no longer seemed to require her help. Every time she offered, they would politely refuse, bowing and calling her 'my Lady.' That was something the ferretwife had never heard before. 'My Lady.' She couldn't say she didn't like the sound of it. Hordebeasts seemed to be far more aware of her now, as well. They would nod and salute, bow and offer assistance. Why, the other day she had stepped right into a chuckhole while marching, and fell; four soldiers stopped and offered to help her all at once.

The ferretwife looked up as some guards, Nightshade, and the Captains, along with the big dogfox Balefur, strode up. Each of them nodded at her as they entered the tent, all but the battleaxe-toting Balefur. The northerner gave her an impudent wink, and Bluefen glowered back at him. He laughed at this, and ducked into the tent.

Bluefen didn't have to wait outside long. It was a matter of minutes before she heard Swartt's voice raised in anger, then Balefur's laughter. The big fox strutted out of the tent with his ax on his shoulder, face split in a wide grin. He winked at Bluefen once more, then sauntered off through the camp to his tent, calling hellos, exchanging playful banter with those who hailed him, and generally appearing to be everybeasts' favorite. A loud _thud_ from within the tent made Bluefen start.

"There! That'll give yer somethin' to smile about! Anybeast want some of this, speak up an' I'll give it to yer!"

There was a clanking of armor and weapons as the Captains and guards rushed out of the tent. The last one to hurry by Bluefen was holding his face. She heard voices speaking in hushed tones within the tent, and tried to lean closer to listen in. A sharp twinge in her side reprimanded her, and she sat back with a gasp. She needed to make another poultice.

"Milady," Nightshade nodded to her as she stepped out of the tent. Bluefen reached out and caught her cloak as she tried to walk off, gritting her teeth against the pain the motion caused her.

"You never gave me those instructions," she told her urgently.

Nightshade tried to pull her cloak away. "I have pressing business to attend to," she said. "I'm afraid I can't waste any time-"

"I _need_ them!" Bluefen cried. "Please!"

The vixen saw the desperate gleam in her eyes and felt a rush of pity. She dropped to the ground and slung off her satchel, rummaging through it until she found some torn parchment and some chalk. Nightshade scrawled down some hasty instructions, looking over her shoulder at the tent a few times to make sure Swartt wasn't watching, and pressed it into the ferret's paws.

Bluefen frowned at the parchment. She looked up. "Can you explain th-"

The seer had vanished.

She looked back down at the parchment. It must have been longer than Bluefen had thought since she had done any reading; Nightshade's instructions looked like line after line of scribbles. Struggling upright, the ferretwife shuffled back to the tent, a doleful look on her face. She could not read the instructions, and she didn't know of anybeast else that knew letters. The vixen had been her only hope, and now she was gone.

"What's wrong with yer face?" Swartt demanded when Bluefen entered the tent. He was sitting on the ground, testing the edge of his curved sword. His wife stepped around him to the trunk, shaking her head. "What's this, then?" Before she could pull away, Swartt snatched Nightshade's instructions from her paw.

"Directions, Lord," Bluefen told him, "to make a poultice."

"Didn't know you could read'n'write," the Warlord said, scrutinizing the parchment. His eyes flicked up at her. "A poultice, you said?"

Bluefen nodded, frightened by the glint that came to her husband's cruel, dark eyes. "Nightshade gave it to me," she stammered as he stood upright, holding his sword.

"Sure it ain't to make a poison?" he asked softly, taking a step toward his trembling wife.

Bluefen fell to her knees and prostrated herself before him, crying, "No, Sire! 'Tis for a poultice, I swear it! I would never do such a thing!" She heard the hiss of cold steel as the Warlord sheathed his blade, and sighed in relief.

"What d'you need a poultice for, anyhow?" Swartt said, curling his lip. "You ain't hurt." Bluefen was thinking of how to respond to that without setting him off again when the Warlord reached down and grabbed her roughly by the arm. He hauled her upright, snarling, "You think yer hurt? You think _you_ need healin'?" He shook his mailed paw at her as he said this. Bluefen yelped as he dug his claws into her arm. "You ain't hurt, but you will be if you go to my seer again. Unnerstan'?" The ferretwife nodded fervently, eyes welling with tears, and he threw her to the ground. Swartt stooped down to scoop up the parchment with Nightshade's instructions, then tore it to bits.

The shreds showered down on Bluefen, who didn't dare gather them back up. Swartt gave her a swift kick, then stalked out of the tent, leaving his wife on the floor; he didn't care much to listen to her cry and sniffle right now. After he had gone, Bluefen felt something warm beneath her skirt, and burst into tears.

She had wet herself.

* * *

When night fell, Bluefen served Swartt his supper and sat down in a corner to hers. The Warlord barely ate, preferring instead to stare hollow-eyed at the tent tarp, ticking over his own secret thoughts. Bluefen didn't eat, either. She felt horribly ill, as if she were going to be sick. She ended up pushing her plate over to Swartt and preparing the sleeping pallet early, wanting nothing more than to lie down and pretend he wasn't there. The ferretwife had her eyes shut for no more than a few minutes when she heard something that made her cringe.

"Bluefen. C'mere."

Fearing another beating should she not obey him, Bluefen got up and went over to the Warlord. He looked down at the woodpigeon and flagon of wine.

"Taste 'em."

Bluefen knelt down. Even though it made her stomach churn, she took a bite from the pigeon and sipped the wine. Swartt watched her, drumming the claws of his good paw on his thigh. Bluefen looked back at him blankly, knowing exactly what this was about. The Warlord wanted to make sure his food and drink weren't poisoned. It seemed that having Balefur around made him a little paranoid.

When no piercing pain wracked her stomach, when no numbness began to set in, the ferretwife was a little disappointed. Half of her had been wishing somebeast had poisoned her husband's meal.

Swartt reached out and took hold of her face, pulled her close. He looked into both of her eyes, as if checking for something, then let go. The Warlord picked up the woodpigeon and began to eat, and Bluefen understood that she was dismissed. She was about to lie down again when a horrible wave of nausea washed over her. The ferretwife bolted from the tent and was sick outside for several minutes before she was able to straighten up.

Swartt gave her a curious look when she returned. He was still eating, and Bluefen had to avert her eyes, lest she be sick again. She went over to the pallet and lay down once more, feeling Swartt's eyes boring into her the entire time. Oh, why couldn't he go back to staring at the tarp?

Bluefen managed to fall asleep, but it was a troubled rest, filled with nightmares. She dreamt that Swartt was hitting her again, screaming at her. She didn't know what she had done this time, but told him she was sorry. She was so very sorry, he had no idea how sorry she was. He hit her and hit her, calling her terrible things. Bluefen started to cry through her apologies, and he laughed at her. He stopped screaming and began to laugh, laughed as he hit her and called her terrible things. She tried to run, and he caught her, dragged her back and hit her again. She started to scream, then. Swartt stopped laughing when she screamed, stopped hitting her and calling her things. Bluefen screamed and screamed, and Swartt grabbed her and told her to stop it. She didn't listen. She screamed louder, hoping that somebeast would hear. Finally, Swartt brought his paw back and slapped her.

"Shaddap!"

The ferretwife sat upright, panting for breath. There was a cushion lying beside her that had not been there before. She looked around, and saw Swartt glaring at her from across the tent. He was still sitting where she had left him, only now his plate and chalice were empty.

"I'm sorry," she moaned softly, burying her face in her paws. "I'm sorry."

Swartt snorted. "As well ye should be. Yer probably woke half the horde hollerin' like that." He stood up and stretched, began to undress. Bluefen watched his muscles ripple and flex as he moved, but was no longer in awe of them. She was afraid of them now, afraid of what they could do.

She couldn't do this again tonight. She felt awful, was afraid she'd be sick again. She couldn't let him this time.

When the Warlord sat down beside her on the pallet and blew out the lamp, Bluefen steeled herself. She felt him touch her, pull at her clothes. When he moved to push her down, Bluefen put a paw on his chest.

"I can't," she whispered to him. "Please, not tonight." The pressure insisted until she was on her back. Sharp teeth nipped at her throat, and she shuddered. "Husband, please…"

"Shut up."

Bluefen's attempts at persuading Swartt to leave her be ultimately failed. He had her as he pleased, as usual, and Bluefen couldn't say whether it was minutes or hours before he finished with her. When he had turned over and stolen the only blanket (he did not allow her to use a separate one anymore), his wife scooted over and slid under it with him, if only because she was too uncomfortable to sleep in only her fur. Bluefen wondered if this was the way it worked with other husbands and wives. Maybe she was just doing something wrong again, maybe that's why Swartt hurt her and made her cry.

He was telling her she was doing something wrong.

Feeling the need to apologize, Bluefen hesitantly put her paws on her husband's shoulders and began to massage them. Swartt tensed at first, but quickly relaxed as she rubbed the knots out of his shoulders and back. Bluefen shifted closer to him, and he didn't move away or push her back.

"Is that good?" she asked him softly.

Swartt grunted. Apparently so.

When Bluefen's paws were too tired to rub anymore, she slid even closer to the Warlord, to the point she was resting against his back. He was warm, and it felt good.

"My turn?" she crooned in his ear.

The only answer she received was her husband's soft snoring as he dreamed visions of the badger that had taken his sixclawed paw.

* * *

Oh Swartt, you arse. I do so love you.

~Orion


End file.
